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1
Senator Lawrence Grayson stood inside his Charlotte office and peered out the window at the dark clouds above him. He didn’t have a scenic view from this side of the building, but it couldn’t be helped. Someday, he’d have a front-row seat to the rose garden, and that was enough to get him through days like this.
Grayson caught his reflection in the window and straightened his tie. He ran a hand over his gray-streaked, dark brown hair, long enough to provide some style but short enough to give him a clean, groomed look. He smiled at his reflection in the window, never dimming the bright blue of his eyes, which had won him favor from men and women alike. Even his beard, kept short and tidy, had turned more than a few heads.
But these days, Grayson noticed his hair was more silver than brown and his eyes had a few more bags underneath. Politics wasn’t for the faint of heart, and if being in the state senate had aged him this much, he couldn’t imagine what he’d look like by the end of his two terms as president.
Then again, that’s why hair dye and Botox existed. He’d resisted until now, because so far, his looks had done him no disservice. It was only a matter of time before he would no longer be able to rely on what God had given him. Once nature had run its course, he’d turn to today’s spectacular technology.
Someone knocked sharply on the door. Senator Grayson turned to find his publicist, Anastasia Bolton, entering the room in a black leather skirt and a maroon turtleneck sweater tucked into the waistband. Her long, blood-red nails clutched a tablet in one hand and a pile of paperwork in the other, and perfectly matched her lipstick. She was an attractive woman. Pin-straight black hair framed her high cheekbones and dark eyes.
Grayson had once asked her if she was seeing anyone, prompting her to go on a five-minute tirade about how it was none of his business and that if he wanted her to continue to work for him, he would never ask her a single personal question again. He was so taken aback, he’d simply nodded his head, and they’d carried on like nothing had ever happened. That was over a year ago, and it had proven to be the best decision of his life. Anastasia had not only made him the talk of the town in North Carolina, but she’d gotten him trending on Twitter more than once.
His future aspirations were within reach.
“Good morning, sir.” Anastasia set the paperwork down on the desk just as Grayson sank into his chair. “You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”
“Will there ever be a time when I don’t have a full day?”
“When you’re dead.” She didn’t even crack a smile. “First thing I need from you is a commitment to a charity.”
“What will I have to do?”
Anastasia sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. She placed the tablet on her knee, swiping and clicking with fervor. She was probably checking emails, answering Twitter questions, lining up interviews, buying him a new suit, and coordinating dinner with his colleagues. All the while, he’d only eaten half his breakfast this morning.
“You’ll need to make at least three appearances. One will be volunteer work in either casual attire or without your jacket and your sleeves rolled up. Get a little messy. Real of the people vibes,” she told him.
“Choices?” he asked.
“Children’s hospital, veterans or animal shelter.”
“You have a preference?”
Anastasia looked up, her finger paused an inch above the tablet’s screen. “Animals are a crowd-pleaser, but it lacks depth. Unless your aspirations stop at President of the American Kennel Club.”
“Right. So, children or vets.”
She went back to swiping. “Children are always good, but they’re unpredictable. You’ll probably have to cry.”
“I’m not good at crying.”
“I know. I think we should go with the vets.”
“You could’ve just said that from the start.”
“It’s better if it seems like your idea. Clients get defiant when they think their strings are being pulled and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
Grayson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She was still looking at her tablet, but she’d know. She always knew. “I’m well aware I sold my soul to the Devil. Defiance wouldn’t serve my purpose.”
